


Clemency, Clandestine

by Nightmist



Series: Aymeric/Estinien Ship Week 2020 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Established Relationship, Estimeric Week (Final Fantasy XIV), Injury Recovery, M/M, Possible Misuse of Paladin Skills, Secrets, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: For Estimeric week 2020, prompt "Secrets"Estinien is oft overly concerned with appearing strong in the field; untouched and certain. Aymeric, however, reads him better than any others, and recognizes when someone had better follow up with a little laying on of hands.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Aymeric/Estinien Ship Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871575
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47
Collections: Estimeric Week 2020





	Clemency, Clandestine

**Author's Note:**

> Look, even if our blue boy doesn't understand how to carry a shield, he's so _very_ much a paladin, which means, of course, he ought to be able to do a little healing, right?

In the aftermath of battle, Aymeric has learned to watch for small tells in Estinien's movements. Truthfully, if he was not equally prone to ignoring and waiting on his own hurts, he might still miss the signs. As it is, however, he has learned to read the differences; holding his spear more firmly in his right hand, the very slight hunch to shoulders drawn tight with tension, the way where instead of adopting his usual resting scowl, Estinien's face is schooled to a placid calm. That last one, more than any other, is what draws him to grab a medic's pack and let himself into the other man's quarters in the barracks after they return to Ishgard.

His rank as the Azure Dragoon grants Estinien at least the privacy of his own room, although it shows very little sign of the one who lives there, the room sparse and tidy. Almost unlived in, in truth. Rather than turning at the sound of the door closing and latching, Estinien is focused on peeling off the shirt he wears beneath his mail, blood and sweat having matted it to his side over an open wound. His voice carries in the small space, even as quiet as it is, a tired scolding as the dragoon opines, "Just because you're Lord Commander now, Borel, doesn't mean you can just invite yourself in."

Aymeric can feel his lips curving into a small smile as he sets the kit on the bed, pulling his gloves off to bare his hands before he reaches to assist in unsticking the fabric from where it has adhered to Estinien's skin with dried blood. He keeps his touch gentle and slow, brows drawn together as he notices how quickly the other man gives up on taking care of it and lets him take over. "I think there are a great many reasons to believe I am welcome here outside of my rank, Estinien."

The dragoon's eyes flick away towards the wall, then come back to him. Away from everyone else, he hisses out a soft breath, letting the pain show now as he lifts his arms. With enough loosened, Aymeric shifts and helps remove the other man's shirt completely, baring the jagged wound in his side. Skating fingertips around the edges slowly, he examines the shape and depth of the injury, wishing that instead of keeping everything so hidden, so secret, Estinien would open up even a little to others. Since he will not, however…

Lips shaping a whispered prayer to Halone while the dragoon watches him, Aymeric calls upon his own aether, hand flattening against Estinien's side as he directs it into the wound. He is no chaplain, able to wash away great pain and injuries with a gesture and a rush of power, but like many of the most devout knights, he has learned to do at least this small amount, to staunch his wounds in times of dire need. Or to treat those of the man he loves beyond all reason, a good thing given the dragoon's ongoing discomfort with turning to the proper care of chirurgeons and chaplains. 

What had been a jagged, fairly deep line torn into flesh by a heretic's sword or claws slowly becomes a broken series of smaller cuts. Letting go of the grip on his aether, forehead lightly sheened with sweat from the effort, Aymeric moves to reach for the medic's kit. He takes the tin of a salve used to prevent infection, applying it to each remaining break in the skin with the first two of his fingers. Estinien leans closer to him, enough that for just a second or two, chapped lips press against his forehead. When the contact breaks, it is with a few quietly stated words in the dragoon's deep rumble of a voice.

"Thank you. I…"

"You prefer to only reveal you're wounded around those you trust. And since you don't trust anyone…" He keeps the tone of his voice warm, light; it is _mostly_ true, and it is also not true at all, which is why he is the one here, treating wounds instead of a proper healer. If no one else, Estinien trusts him, despite his grumbling and complaints. Cleaning his hands off, he starts to wind strips of bandaging over the remnants of the injury, listening to the erratic pace of Estinien's breathing.

Only when the bandage is fastened does Aymeric look up, to find Estinien watching him intently, his dark eyes surprisingly soft. A rough hand curls under his chin, nudging it up until the dragoon can lean forward and press lips properly against his. There is no real hunger to it, just deep trust and affection, and he can feel the weariness in the other man's body now that he's been treated. After the kiss is broken, Aymeric curls a hand along the line of Estinien's jaw, thumb tracing the sharp curve of his cheekbone. "Will you rest now, let yourself recover? I have more I should do this night, but I wanted to see that you were well first."

Fingers flex, pinching a fold of his sash and rubbing the fabric with a gentleness that he suspects no one else is aware that Estinien is capable of. He knows, too, what to read into the gesture: acceptance, loneliness, the sole nod that will be given towards the desire for a world where he could simply linger the night here. They do not live in that world, yet, responsibilities and expectations limiting them to catching brief moments like how children try to catch snowflakes in their mouths. The brief revelation of weakness passes and the hand slips away. 

Aymeric stands, slowly drawing his own hand back from Estinien's skin. He affects a smile, tries to show softness rather than worry as the other man settles back into his bed. No matter how much else places demands on his time, the extra moments it takes to pull up the covers, smooth them down around the dragoon's form as he curls carefully on his uninjured side, is well worth it. He can keep Estinien's secrets, tucked as near and dear to his heart as his own, if not more so.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, consider [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) if you enjoy reading or writing FFXIV fic or want to find me to scream at me about something.


End file.
